


Party Daddy

by econator



Series: Party Daddy [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Flirting, Goodwood Festival of Speed, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 11:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19991200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/econator/pseuds/econator
Summary: Jean-Éric feels like a fish out of water at the peculiar spectacle that is Goodwood. Thankfully, a sexy stranger shows up to make him feel at home.





	Party Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> Set in 2011, a kind of gap year for both Jev and Carl, at the Goodwood Festival of Speed.
> 
> Tagged as F1 because Jev was testing for Red Bull back then, and FE because they've found a home in the electric circus.

Jean-Éric hung around the corner of the VIP tent, clutching his beer like it was a life raft. It kinda was, if he was honest with himself, which he absolutely couldn't be right now. Not here, not around all these people. As he scanned the room, he spotted that smoking hot party daddy type from the paddock earlier. Not that he could do anything about it. Not with Party Daddy being associated with a management company, and Red Bull's rules about outside experts. But he was so amazingly handsome. That hair, which Jean-Éric wanted to run his fingers through. Those jeans that sit just so against his muscular hips. Speaking of hips, the big hands that Jean-Éric wanted on his. Party Daddy turned and caught Jean-Éric staring at him. Jean-Éric bit his lip and looked away. He headed towards a guy he recognised from his two litre Formula Renault days, feeling torn between the desperate urge for Party Daddy to chase him, and the paralysing fear that, if he did chase him, all of what he'd worked so hard for would be for nothing. Jean-Éric initiated a chat about cars and careers with his former competitor, stretching his beer an awkward fifteen minutes longer than he should've stayed in the conversation. He was pretty sure the guy sighed with relief as he went to get a refill from the bar. The waiter smiled at Jean-Éric as he handed him his drink.

'Would you like a pint of water to wash that down with? It'll make it last longer so you can stay sensible.'

'Yeah, thanks.' He smiled back at the guy as he accepted the pint of lukewarm water. 'Thanks for the tip.'

'Haha, new anti-binge licensing laws oblige me to offer it. Not that many bar staffers take the advice. But you seem like you could use someone looking out for you.'

'Yeah. I probably could. Thanks for the drink.' Jean-Éric was about to walk away, go “network,” when Party Daddy arrived at his elbow, making him wish he'd thought far enough in advance to have planned something smart and cool to say to him before he was confronted by those hands on the bar counter next to him.

'You look hungry,' Party Daddy said in French. Posh Alpine, from the sound of his accent, Jean-Éric noted, making himself feel more insecure. He also wasn't sure whether he should take the comment as a compliment or not. Party Daddy turned to face him, leaning nonchalantly against the bar.

'Get out of your head, kid. I have an image to keep up as well. I can't afford to piss off your bosses and tank my dad's business by doing something indiscreet in public with one of Red Bull's young guns.'

Jean-Éric exhaled, suddenly aware that he'd been holding his breath. 'Good to know.' He looked up at Party Daddy, and lost the power of speech. He was even more beautiful up close. If his big hands hadn't sealed the deal earlier, his eyes up close certainly had.

'Can I buy you a whisky, since we're on the same piece of land as Scotland?' Party Daddy said.

'Sure.' At least whisky was basically sugar-free. Jean-Éric turned to face the bar, ostensibly awaiting his free drink. That's how he'd explain it to anyone who asked. The bar tender discretely replaced the beer with a whisky, giving him a wink as he placed it next to his pint of water. Jean-Éric felt like that was silent permission to linger with the hot guy. He took a big gulp of his water.

'This your first Goodwood?' Party Daddy said.

'Yeah. Is it that obvious?'

'You look like you were told to be here, but not given the rules of how to deal with all this Englishness.'

'It's uncomfortably English, right?'

'And they're completely unaware of it, which makes it funny. Except you can't laugh at it without hurting their feelings. Which makes it more uncomfortable.'

'Exactly!'

'I'm Carl.' Party Daddy held his hand out.

'Jean-Éric.' Jean-Éric put his hand in Carl's giant one.

Carl held his hand for just a second too long, smiling at Jean-Éric. 'I bet you can do some impressive things with a race car.'

Jean-Éric blushed and had another gulp of his water. 'I grew up at a karting track. I'm willing to bet that anything you can do with a car, I can do better.'

Carl laughed. 'I'd like to see that sometime when we're both in Paris, away from watchful eyes.' He paid and thanked the bar tender. Jean-Éric didn't tell him that he still stayed with his parents when he was in Paris, and those eyes were definitely too watchful to bring this slice of gorgeous for a visit. 'I'm taking you for fish and chips, and ice-cream. Since we're having a field trip into the English national psyche today.'

'Okay.' He wanted to say something cooler, sexier, but simplicity seemed like the safer choice.

Carl smiled and nodded towards the open side of the tent. Jean-Éric grabbed one cup in each hand, and followed Carl into the main thoroughfare. More like surfed in his wake, slipstreaming his broad frame as they cut through the crowd that normally pressed uncomfortably close. Jean-Éric felt glad that he had a glass of water to sip for his nerves as they joined the line outside the gourmet pub food line.

'So, F1's the goal, huh?'

'Yeah.' Jean-Éric didn't tell him he was only a test driver right now. 'Living the dream.'

'Testing. Driving at Goodwood. Red Bull are treating you well.'

'Yeah.' A wave of food smells hit him, making his tummy rumble. 'I think I am quite hungry, now that I can smell the food.'

'Yeah, the smell of deep-fried carbs does that up close.' Carl gently nudged him with his elbow. 'This wasn't all of what I meant when I said you looked hungry earlier.' He stepped forward, and placed their order in flawless English.

Jean-Éric's belly felt all tingly that this worldly-wise demigod wanted to hang out with his horny, dorky, Pontoise arse. 'I'm on all kinds of diets,' he said when they stepped away from the mob to wait for their food. 'For my racing.'

'Sometimes eating after dark doesn't show itself as extra weight on the hips.'

'Even after dark, there are still people who can see me eating. Maybe talk about it, mention it to someone they shouldn't that I'm not on my diet.'

'Even if you eat in private, somewhere like my flat in Kensington, where people keep to themselves and what people eat is none of anyone else's business?'

'A flat in Kensington?! How big is your trust fund?' The incredulous comment got away from Jean-Éric before his brain could kick in and stop it.

'Big enough that I chartered a helicopter to take me home tonight so I didn't need to be seen taking the train at closing time.' Carl flashed him that perfect smile. 'Not the only thing about me that's big, either.'

'Nice.' Jean-Éric wondered what Carl saw in him as he stepped back to the counter to collect their order. He was so cool, and Jean-Éric felt like the ugly duckling wallflower who just tried to blend in. This time when Jean-Éric put a cup to his lips, he went for the whisky. He needed all the courage he could get for this meal.

Carl returned with two cardboard trays of golden brown chips, each with a battered fish laid over the top. 'Back to what I was saying. Sometimes it's fun to have a meal with someone with similar interests. Someone who understands what you mean when you can't remember the English words.' He led the way to one of the tiny wooden tables nearby. 'If you're still hungry after work this evening, I have some salmon fillet and things for salad in my fridge.'

'You're offering to cook for me?' Jean-Éric said.

'I dated a chef while I was studying in America. Picked up a few tricks.'

Maybe it was the whisky talking, maybe it was the warmth of Carl's leg pressed against his under the table, or maybe just the relief of being with someone who understood his situation, but Jean-Éric's brazenness and hunger overtook him. 'I'm allowed to leave at six this evening. If you're allowed to bring guests on your helicopter.' He smiled and put a fat chip in his mouth, remembering to chew with his mouth shut.

'I'll call the pilot and tell him to keep a second seat open.' Carl smiled back, looking unreasonably pleased with himself. He held up his whisky in a toast. 'To eating with similar strangers.'

'Santé,' Jean-Éric said, feeling the thrill of the forbidden as he bumped the two plastic cups together. 'To eating with similar strangers.'


End file.
